


Curtain of Wisteria

by aeriiin



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Childhood Memories, First Kiss, Inspired by Fanart, M/M, really gentle boys like wow so soft, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-10-25 22:37:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10773906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aeriiin/pseuds/aeriiin
Summary: He didn’t know how long he sat under the tree with his hand pressed against its sturdy trunk after that. When he opened his eyes again, the sunlight filtering through the vines had become rose coloured, and the sound of metal clinks against the ground greeted him. He exhaled quietly at the fluttering in his chest the approaching noise had left him with.The cowboy.





	Curtain of Wisteria

The wisteria tree that grew atop the highest hill in Hanamura had turned forty-six today.

 

Hanzo doubted anyone in the town below actually knew this, though. It was no easy task to climb up to the peak the beautiful tree stood upon, the path treacherous and steep, with a sheer cliff that kept all but a select few from ever reaching it in the first place. Thus, many had resigned to observing its beauty from a distance and watching as the violet petals blent with the pinks of the cherry blossoms that bloomed inside the town itself.

 

He had only the faintest of memories of himself as a child before Genji had been born, sitting out on the balcony that overlooked Hanamura in his mother’s lap and watching as pastels rained from the mountaintops, showering his home with an ethereal beauty, while she sang him a song he no longer remembered the tune of. Back then, the tree had been so distant, yet so wondrous at the same time, and full of an otherworldly splendor that he lacked the proper words to describe. He thought of the wisteria in the same light in which he thought of the dragons his family revered so highly.

 

The first time he ever saw the tree up close was on the day of his mother’s funeral. Per her request, she had been buried beside the tree so that her grave overlooked Hanamura. Hanzo hadn’t climbed the path by himself then, instead clutching his father’s left hand tightly while Genji slept cradled in his other arm. The rain from the days before had caused the limbs of the wisteria to bow slightly as if it too were mourning for their loss. He had cried so horribly that day, to the point where a strong breeze caused several wayward petals from the tree to stick to his tear-soaked cheeks. He remembered wishing that he had been in Genji’s place, too young to ever recall the day with any accuracy.

 

For the next several years, the visits to the top of the mountain became more frequent. The family of three would spend countless holidays up on the hill, picnicking underneath the vines of the wisteria. Oftentimes, when the two brothers fought with one another, as brothers so often do, they would hike up to the tree and sit by their mother’s grave until their rage subsided. They would apologize, and Genji would always ask for Hanzo to let him ride his back on the way down. The request would always garner a laugh from the elder Shimada brother and an eyeroll, but Hanzo would always agree in the end, even as the boys left their childhood behind and made their way into their early adolescent years.

 

Hanzo gazed up at the tree now, its branch far more expansive than he last remembered. It never ceased to take his breath away, the way the sunlight could barely squeeze through the gaps in the soft purple curtain of vines. Pushing his way through the petals to the center of the tree itself, he reached a hand out towards the twisted trunk of the tree and ran his fingers along the grooves in the bark that reminded him of water streaking through rocks. He stopped just as the tips of his fingers found the edge of an unusual but familiar groove.

 

‘島田源氏’

 

It was hastily carved; the knife had felt unwieldy and awkward in his shaking hands that day, and he recalled having to stop several times to wipe the tears from his eyes and petals that stuck to his face. A wave of nausea hit him as his fingers traced the characters.

 

_Shimada Genji._ He traced them again. _Shimada Genji._ The only Shimada that had not been given a proper grave on the wisteria hill when he had ‘died’, so Hanzo had felt it was only right to make one for him.

 

Peering through the flowers, he could barely make out the slate black gravestone that marked both his mother and his father’s final resting place, the faded remnants of the red ink that had marked his father’s name still clinging desperately despite all these years. Hanzo pressed his lips into a thin line as he looked back up at the branches of the tree. His father had told he and his brother of how he had planted the tree as a token of his affection for their mother, and years later had asked for her hand in marriage under that same tree.

 

The story was his favorite growing up, as sappy as it was. It had been a tree born of love so strong he could feel it with every spring that brought with it those lavender petals from the mountaintop, and at times he swore he had heard that song his mother sand as the breeze from the hills whistling through the trees. A scoff emerged from his chest; there had even been a time when he thought of confessing his love to someone underneath that tree in vain hope of feeling that same love his parents had shared. Genji had thought of him as a silly, old fashioned romantic when he had told him, and the thought was soon lost to the years.

 

Hanzo shivered as he then recalled how the wisteria petals had drifted into the pagoda on that horrific day, and drowned in the pools of his brother’s blood that stained the floor. Oh, it had been a tree born of love, but it was surrounded by so much death and despair all the same.

 

_Just like us. Just like me._

 

He didn’t know how long he sat under the tree with his hand pressed against its sturdy trunk after that. When he opened his eyes again, the sunlight filtering through the vines had become rose coloured, and the sound of metal clinks against the ground greeted him. He exhaled quietly at the fluttering in his chest the approaching noise had left him with. The cowboy.

 

“Hey, archer, you in he-”

 

Hanzo heard McCree’s breath hitch softly as the man parted the curtain of purple vines. He would have certainly felt the other’s gaze on him had he not been so taken aback himself. Framed by the boughs of the tree, the gunslinger was completely enveloped in the gentle, ethereal pink glow that settled underneath the flowering vines around them. ‘Soft’ was generally not a word he’d use to describe the hardened cowboy who Hanzo knew carried his own demons within him, but in this very moment everything about Jesse McCree was soft. The outline of his face, hair, his eyes, even the worn and tattered serape around his shoulders looked soft. He hoped the flush in his cheeks was masked by the general lighting of the underside of the wisteria tree.

 

“Oh, uh…” McCree coughed into his hand. “Pardon me. Hoped I wasn’t disturbin’ you or nothin’. Team’s just wonderin’ where you went off to an’...”

 

Hanzo stood up as the other trailed off, brushing the dirt from the back of his pants. “No, you didn’t. Forgive me; I hadn’t meant to make the others worry.” The others. The team. _His_ team. Right. He had split off from the team as soon as their mission had been completed without so much as a word to them about where he was headed, only that he’d be back later.

 

“Nah, you’re fine, darlin’. I tried tellin’ ‘em  you’d call if you were in any real danger anyways, but they all jus’  wanted to be sure.” The gunslinger chuckled and took a step forward under the tree. Hanzo briefly pondered how he had let him enter his space so easily. “Gotta say, archer, you sure got a nice lil’ spot up here. Haven’t seen a tree this pretty since I was back in the States.”

 

“Is that so?” His head quirked up to meet Jesse’s eyes.

 

“Yeah… Used to see them whenever I passed through Texas. They weren’t nearly as pretty as the ones I see over here.” McCree’s lip quirked up into a nervous half-smile. “An’ nowhere near as lovely as this one.”

 

They both knew he hadn’t been referring to the tree in that last remark, but out of habit he did not say anything about it. Pointing it out would only disrupt the familiar and comfortable dance that had formed between them for several months now. A flirting remark here, a story of how their hands had been bloodied there, those late nights where their past bled into their dreams spent talking about nothing on the rec room couch until one of them fell asleep on the other’s shoulder somewhere between. To say they were close was to put it mildly, but what ‘they’ were exactly Hanzo was not sure he had the words for just yet. In this very moment under the wisteria tree, however, he found himself wishing he had those words.

 

Humming briefly, Hanzo dropped his gaze back to the trunk, and to the carving. “This tree and I share a long history together.” ‘Shimada Genji’ stared back at him, causing his lips to purse. “It reminds me both of happier times, and troubling ones.”

 

“I’ll bet.” The cowboy let out a deep sigh. “Bein’ home like this tends to do that...”

 

A tense silence filled the air between them before the archer continued again. “I visited this tree the day I left home. Genji and I spent much of our youth here. I carved this here after...” His finger traced the lines of the kanji as he thought over his next few words carefully. “...This was the last place I visited in Hanamura after we fought.”

 

McCree’s smile faded into an impossibly gentle look that made Hanzo’s heart hurt. It amazed him how the cowboy could look at him like that without seeing the trail of blood he left in his wake, or without slipping in his own trail. “...Hey, look, if you… if you need some more time, I can always-”

 

“No.” The answer came out far more intense than he had meant it. He tried again: “No… it’s fine. I’m fine. I do not mind you being here.”

 

“You sure?” McCree’s voice sounded so timid, like a child asking for permission from their parent.

 

“Yes, I am sure. I…” He offered up a small smile of his own, in an attempt to bring back the cowboy’s warm grin. “I would greatly appreciate your company, actually.”

 

Sure enough, that seemed to do the trick. Jesse’s lips curled up once more into that sunny grin of his, and with their current proximity to one another, Hanzo could faintly make out the growing redness that colored the man’s cheeks. “Well… then I’ll stay for as long as you’ll have me, Han.”

 

Hanzo felt a wave of warmth wash through him at the sheer tenderness of his words, and he let out a breath he hadn't known he had been holding. He wondered if this feeling, this wholesome fondness that flooded his very being, was what his parents had shared long ago. Fondness. Affection. Love so strong it could be felt on the breeze that plucked the petals from the vines around them.

 

It was all the push he needed to do what he did next.

 

The archer raised a single hand and brought it up to the serape, his eyes searching Jesse’s for any sign or reason for him to pull away. He saw no fear in those eyes, only a fondness that spoke to him more than any words ever could. Burying his hands further into the fabric, Hanzo tugged Jesse’s lips down to meet his own in a chaste kiss, cracking a small smile at the noise that the gunslinger made in response. It took only a short moment for the man to shake off his initial surprise and wrap his arms around him tightly, turning his head to better deepen the kiss and sighing against his mouth. Just like everything about the wisteria tree, it was soft, and just like everything about the cowboy, it was warm, comforting, and filled with so much love that it made his chest swell with emotion.

 

They pulled away after a time, Hanzo using every shred of willpower he had not to chase after his lips for a second meeting. McCree was the first to speak, his face still flushed from the kiss but still sporting that blinding grin as he leaned down to press his forehead against the archer’s with a breathy laugh.  “... shit, Han. That… I-I mean, that was...”

 

“I… Forgive me.” Hanzo’s voice was barely a whisper as he spoke, fingers wrapped in the serape relaxing against the fabric. “I am a foolish man for not doing so sooner.”

 

“You still beat me to the punch there, partner.” He could feel the rumble in Jesse’s chest as he chuckled, a gloved hand coming up to cup his face. When Hanzo looked up, the gunslinger’s eyes were once again impossibly fond. “You mind if we start makin’ up for lost time then, darlin’?”

 

The answer came to him easily. “Not at all.”

 

As they shared their second kiss under the boughs of the tree, Hanzo thought of the words he lacked to describe the two of them, and decided that sometimes words were just words. All that mattered in this very moment was the man standing before him, with his arm around him, who kissed him as though there was no world outside their curtain of wisteria.  


**Author's Note:**

> i can't stop writing about these boys already and when i see gorgeous works that inspire me, i just gots ta write!!
> 
> http://ponthion.tumblr.com/post/160097687681/my-piece-for-the-mchanzine-some-soft-smooches the piece that inspired me to write in the first place!!
> 
> as per usual, i had a helping hand from the amazing thetiniestcicada on tumblr, and if y'all wanna yell about stuff to me, feel free to follow me at aerihead on tumblr!!


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